


You're You

by sharkle



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-16
Updated: 2010-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 21:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkle/pseuds/sharkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sometimes wondered why the Sorting Hat put him in Gryffindor if he couldn't even kiss his best friend without running away. JamesII/AliceII.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're You

With a sigh James plopped himself down in a seat at one end of the Gryffindor table, as far away from his family as possible. A few second years sitting nearby scooted over, but not too much so that they couldn't stare at him. He threw them a glare and they quickly started a conversation, and James groaned, banging his forehead onto the tabletop.

Things had been different for him at Hogwarts in his sixth year, and more than a large part of him expected that it had something to do with the apparent prowess he had shown at Quidditch in the past few years. He knew his mother had been a Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies before he was born, and his father could have played Seeker professionally, but it was becoming too much.

Honestly, James loved Quidditch. He really did. He had since he was little, he was practically brought up on a broomstick; it was in his blood to love Quidditch. But that didn't mean he wanted to pursue the sport as a career.

It seemed that all his life, people had always been making his decisions for him – or rather, the person they all thought he was. He was always seen differently: Harry Potter's son, James Potter the second, named after supposed mass-murderer Sirius Black – all of that came first. Just James came last.

He was expected to do great things, but he wasn't really sure how he was supposed to die for his family or save the world when he was having an identity crisis.

It didn't help that while he wanted to be someone completely different from his father, he also wanted to be exactly like him. Being an Auror was his dream job – protecting people, taking out the bad guys, and making it home in time for dinner.

So perhaps that last one wasn't completely true… He shuddered a little at the memory of Harry in St. Mungo's, chalk white and his entire left leg soaked in shockingly red blood, Healers rushing about and Teddy on the other side of the room, unmoving –

"No," James mumbled to himself for the hundredth time that year as a chill ran down his spine.

He sometimes wondered why the Sorting Hat put him in Gryffindor.

"James Potter!" said a voice from behind him. Head still pressed to wood, James felt anger ignite in his stomach so fiercely that he thought the inside of his closed eyelids burned red.

"What?" he snapped; twisting round, he saw Alice Longbottom standing above him, brooms in each of her hands.

"Want to practice with me?" she asked. "Ravenclaw's gotten really good this year with their new Beaters – what're their names…? Well, that's not important, but anyway, what do you think?"

James looked at her for a moment. "No," he said shortly. He turned back around and folded his arms on the table, resting his chin on top of them.

Alice sat down across from him, frowning. "What's got your knickers in a twist?" she said. "You love Quidditch."

"Thanks for pointing that out," snarled James, "I had no idea."

She flipped her honey-blonde hair over her shoulder, visibly affronted. "Seriously, what is your problem?"

James made a noise of frustration and, ignoring the little jolt in his chest, grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the Great Hall and into the second unused classroom he came to (the first had been otherwise occupied, and he had closed the door again before the wandering hands could go any further). He shoved Alice inside, watched as she deposited the broomsticks by the door, and hopped up on an empty desk. Alice followed suit.

"My problem," he began, no sooner than she had crossed her arms over her chest, "is that no one ever lets me do what I want." Alice opened her mouth to interrupt, but James cut her off with a sharp, "Not a word." And then, getting back into his tirade, "Everyone assumes I'm going to be playing Quidditch when I graduate – and yes, I love it, but not enough to really play. And if they don't assume that, they assume that I want to be an Auror –"

"But you do!" protested Alice; she clapped her hands over her mouth. James showed no reaction to her outburst.

"That's not the point!" he said. "The point is that they think I want to be one because my dad is, when really, I think it's fantastic – saving lives – it's the closest I'll ever get to living up to my name! And even then, they'll never get it!"

He wasn't entirely sure why he was telling her all this. So what if she was his best friend? So what if he had a crush on her? This was private information that no one – except maybe his father and Teddy – need know. Yet it seemed vital that he opened up to her; important for her to hear his insecurities. He thought he might have been able to stop talking if she hadn't been looking at him, her dark brown eyes boring holes into his skull.

"I'll never be able to me myself! I'll only be what people make me out to be!"

"James, calm down," pleaded Alice, rising, but he shook his head, fists clenched. He had never wanted to punch something so much in his life.

"Shut up!" he bellowed. "Shut up, shut up, shut up! You don't know what it's like to be the son of the most famous wizard in Britain – in the world! There's so much effing pressure to be absolutely, one hundred percent perfect, just like him, or any of my namesakes! But I'm not! I'm not perfect! I'm not my father or my grandfather or my father's godfather! I'm me, James Sirius Potter!"

He had stood up in his anger. Letting out a strangled yell, he kicked over the desk he had been sitting on and turned his back on Alice. After a few moments, she said coolly, "That's good because I'm not my grandmother."

James spun around, still breathing heavily. He stared at her for a little while, his jaw slack, before saying, "I forgot."

"Lucky you," snapped Alice. "You think I have it easy? My dad's mum was one of the best Aurors in history, along with granddad Frank." A somewhat frightening smirk twisted her lips as she spoke her brother's name. "And there's Dad teaching, and everyone just adores him, and I'm supposed to be amazing at Herbology because both of my parents were, but really, I'm bullocks! I would've failed my O.W.L. is Dad hadn't offered to help." With a final huff, she finished, "You're not the only one with big shoes to fill, James."

He just stared. He suddenly felt incredibly guilty for his outburst. Desperately trying to avoid eye contact, he righted the overturned desk, sat back down, and willed himself to become interested in his toes.

Alive heaved a sigh as James took a breath. "James," she said, at the same time he started, "Alice." They looked at each other – James' heart beat a little faster – and then away, laughing slightly nervously. "You first," he offered.

"Er – all right." She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," said James, almost before she had finished. "It's me who should be sorry for dumping all my shit on you."

Alice only shrugged, migrating over to share his desk. Her elbow grazed his: Goosebumps erupted down his arms. For a long time, the two of them sat there in silence, James' mouth very dry as he tried to screw up his courage.

Finally, Alice bumped him with her shoulder. Smiling an odd smile he had never seen on her face before, she said softly, "You're you and I'm me, right?"

James returned with his own. "Yeah. You're you and I'm me," he repeated.

Quite once more and relieved there were no hard feelings, they continued sitting. Alice worried her bottom lip between her teeth, and James, thinking about it – her laugh, how she was always there, her love of life itself – all the things that made Alice Alice – had never wanted to kiss her more.

As though reading his mind, Alice turned toward him, a victorious fire blazing in her eyes. Her gaze locked with James', and his hesitation disappeared. He leaned forward.

And then he was kissing her and it was blissful oblivion, the best kiss he had ever had, one hand on either of her hips as her fingers tangled in his unruly hair, their lips moving together in perfect sync and with a start her tongue was there and he became aware of who this really was – she wasn't Alice, who had had a crush on for a year and a half, she was Alice, his best friend since their first year, there through thick and thin and his girlfriends and her boyfriends and –

And he pulled away – no, this is all wrong, no – and he leapt up threw open the door – no, no, you can't do this – and he ran as fast as his feet could carry him, away from that classroom, away from Alice – no, this isn't what's supposed to happen… He thought he might have heard a sob disguised as a "James!" but he was already gone and it was too late and there was no going back – no, no, no – and he slid down the wall and put his head in his hands.

"No," he said again, "no, no…" And this time, it was all James Sirius Potter's doing.

He sometimes wondered why the Sorting Hat put him in Gryffindor.

**Author's Note:**

> Alice II isn't officially a character, but I've seen her in the fandom before. :) To me, she counts.


End file.
